


Fëanor & Melkor - An Oath of a Different Kind

by Silmarils (semit)



Series: Melkor's Choice [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dark Love, Gen, Loyalty, M/M, Redemption, angbang, canon divergence - Tokien, character development and redemption, eventually, not explicit, some violence, villain sympathy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-02-20 01:09:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22940785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semit/pseuds/Silmarils
Summary: Eru grants the gift imperishable to Melkor in exchange for the Silmarils... but there is still a price! A redemption arc series where Melkor eventually discovers that those who wield power must also practice responsibility. Eventual Angbang. In time, and with difficultly, he turns to the light. Each piece can be read as a standalone fic.
Relationships: Fëanor | Curufinwë/Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor, Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Series: Melkor's Choice [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648705
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	Fëanor & Melkor - An Oath of a Different Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You will heed my words, Melkor. Return the Silmarils now, or I will destroy you. Utterly!”

Filled with latent rapture, Melkor the Dark Enemy of Arda, leaned his back on the black throne of Angband. A satisfied smile crossed his mouth as he savored a sweet memory enemies falling wave after wave of vicious onslaughts. Glorious! He sighed in a moment of content pleasure filled contemplation sipping a goblet of wine.

Interrupting the pleasant thoughts, a strange and strong wind brushed across his face stirring his black hair. He knew immediately what this could be, and he didn’t like it! He stood rapidly with shock and concern as a column of spectral light danced across the throne room. Auras quickly filled the dark corners of the space shining brighter than the three Silmarils.

 _Damnit! I knew it! Forced teleportation! The audacity_! Frightened orcs went shrieking and scampering away heedless of the potential danger to their master. _Cowards! Who is trying to whisk me away?! Who has power with such reach? And no one is helping. Idiots!_

There was one who was aware of the threat. One who leaped to protect his master, “My Lord!” shouted Mairon amid the growing roar of the wind, reaching for the Dark Lord, but too late. The column of light and wind had already flown around the Lord of Angband, enveloping his body with a choking pressure and tightening around his from. Melkor drew in a quick hiss of pain as disorientation griped him. The white spectral power quickened its fury in a vortex around his body, whipping long dark hair around with it. Someone is trying to take me somewhere against my will! Bastard!

Melkor knew now without the slightest doubt that this was a forced teleportation. A very potent one at that. _But who has the power to take me thus?_

With a lurching shift and rapid blur of motion, he was moved body and soul to a new location, and it was not pleasant.

Catching his balance at the sudden stop of motion, his eyes scanned the area to gauge his present whereabouts and determine any threats. He stood in a cavernous, marble-walled space. Carved walls. Elf walls! Feanor’s walls! Feanor’s throne room! He stopped scanning when a new realization hit him, suddenly and keenly aware that he was unarmed. He had naught a dagger at his hip nor phial of poison at the ready. Nothing!

In the gut of Feanor's stronghold standing before a tall dais with no weapon, Melkor stilled himself. Feanor himself came into focus sitting on his own white perch. Damned elf! But he could not transport me so!

The source of the teleportation rapidly become clear, for between Melkor and Feanor a familiar figure stood. Eru, the Great Creator of all. Melkor gauged quickly and correctly that the Great Creator of the world was in prior discourse with Feanor-- A conversation which Melkor was now compelled to join. Lovely.

“Welcome, Melkor,” greeted the Great Creator extending his arms wide in a welcoming gesture. Tall, white bearded, with an ancient and wise look, Eru’s eyes shone with the light of unfathomable power.

To say that Melkor was not pleased would be mild. He quieted his anger. “Greetings father. To what occasion do I owe my presence?” Melkor’s deep blue eyes burned with anger and question. Truly he grasped for the meaning of his forced delivery to the seat of his enemy’s power. He seethed with loathing and deep hatred for the elves, and this elf most of all.

“My dearest Melkor,” Eru perceived his creation’s fury filled confusion, “I have missed you,” And truly he did, smiling gently at his oldest and darkest son.

Great loathing and disgust filled Feanor at the presence of the foul enemy, “Oh, Great Creator of all, with greatest respect and deepest honor, I must ask,” Feanor hesitated to question Eru, but to question he was compelled less out of curiosity, but genuine hatred, “Why has the Moringotto been brought here in such a manner? For truly I do not wish to parley with this treacherous deceiver. I have seen the results of conferring with Morgoth, and know the depths of his depravity, lies, and lack of honor!”

“Peace, Feanor,” Eru spoke with serene authority, “For honor is the reason that I bring you two together. And in such a manner is the only way it could occur. That and to save both of you from tragic fates. Rage and suspicion overflows from both your hearts, making this method oc meeting the only method of discourse.”

“With highest reverence and regard, Great Creator,” Feanor pursued with a slight bow of deference, “I truly cannot bear to house the Moringotto in my kingdom, in my throne room, before my person. That he draws breath I cannot abide, and his physical presence here is an affront to my people,” pride was quickly winning over deference.

“Feanor, it is you who affronts me if you so speak so of my finest Vala creation.” Eru turned to Melkor who continued to seethe as did Feanor, “But such is not the reason for this meeting. Dearest Melkor, it is primarily your actions that prompt our meeting.”

Melkor remained fixed where he was deposited, all rage, and all hatred behind the dark fair form. To Eru, however, he remained respectful, “Father, of what actions do you speak? I have suffered greatly already having served the sentence for changing your beloved Music. But now,” his eyes drilled into the elf king atop the dais. “I rightly defend my lands from this elf’s treachery, as he blocks my trade routes, starves my people, prevents our prosperity, and insults my person...”

“You!” Feanor stiffened with fury. If he could drive a poisoned dagger deep into Melkor’s body, he would rejoice, glorying at the agonized death of the Dark Enemy, “You kill my people, kidnap my kin, dishonor your word, and lay repeated unjust siege to my kingdom!”

“And so we are at an impasse. This conflict will end in mutual destruction if it continues thusly. But continue it will no more,” Eru raised a hand in a calming gesture. “Melkor, Feanor, I bring you together to end this foolish warring. I know and love you both. I also know that neither will compromise. And both desires what he cannot have. Thus I offer firm, yet fair, alternatives, a new course of action, and a measure of... motivation.”

“Melkor my dear,” Eru walked closer to the Dark Lord and reached for Melkor's hand. A gesture which Melkor accepted, now cradling the hand of his maker. “I created you to add chaos and to offset the other Valar. Creation cannot grow unchecked or it would suffocate itself. Creation needs entropy, a turmoil that only you can bring. Though the other Valar cannot see it, some of their creations are foolish, indulgent, and require correction. Great in power and great in discord, you add balance. And this balance will ultimately bring harmony to the world. You are the essence of dissonance and disorder, and I love you for that. But pure destruction you now sow, and hatred. You no longer simply offset and correct, you annihilate! Yes, yes… you darkened the Trees. But the blackening of the Trees I accept. It’s part of your chaos and your nature. And the darkening of the Trees brought about even greater lights and added equilibrium to the world. This is my intent for you and for Arda. But now, your greed has made you suffer terribly and lessened your might."

"You need great power," continued the great Eru, "Without it, you cannot truly fulfill your purpose and complete my wishes for Arda and beyond. Immense power you also require since you are distinct from the other Valar. You need strength to endure the dissimilar qualities of your being. Now, in your rage, you seek to destroy all of Arda, and have unjustly taken Feanor's encapsulated remnants of the Trees. This action prompts the Eldar to war, enhancing the pain and misery of all, including you. This only leads to a path of sorrow for all. But, the three gems are not yours. Your possession of the jewels has caused imbalance. You cannot see your future possibilities, but I see all like a web of actions and consequences. I will end it this time lest you suffer a terrible fate. We've done this before, you know, and it always leads to the same end unless the jewels are removed at this stage. I have made my decision on how your fate will now diverge from its inevitable course. It is for the better. I don't wish you or the Eldar to suffer so. You know what I ask. I need not say it. You must trust me. You can be happy if you do this. There is no joy for you in the jewels."

“No!” gasped Melkor, withdrawing his hand and recoiling from the clear suggestion of which Eru spoke. For without question, Eru required the return of the Silmarils. “No! You cannot ask this of me! I will not comply!” His mind was swimming at the revelation of his true purpose. He knew why he was created but to hear it spoken in such plain language was agonizing. 

“But comply you will.” With a motion quicker than lightning, Eru raised a hand and encircled Melkor's neck. Melkor did not resist. The action was simply too quick. His surprise was clear as blue eyes widened, a pale face turned a shade even whiter, and his hands instinctively went to his own neck. But Eru was not squeezing the throat he held, only grasping it gently, but firmly, feeling the Vala’s strong, quickening jugular pulse. The grasp about Melkor's neck was a gesture of unmistakable warning to underscore the words Eru then spoke.

“You will heed my words, Melkor. Return the Silmarils now, or I will destroy you. Utterly!”

Melkor whispered a breathless refusal of disbelief, “No! No, I cannot!”

“Calm now, dearest Melkor. I offer you a living gift more valuable than the three cold jewels. I offer you a piece of the Flame Imperishable within me,” Eru spoke true, offering Melkor a gift beyond value.

Melkor exhaled with a shuddering breath of both refusal and desire.

“Surrender the Silmarils. Do it now. True, I could seize them, but you must willingly comply. You will cease to exist if you delay one moment further. Do it now! I implore you! Melkor, I beseech you to relent!"

Melkor grasped the severity of the threat, and knew Eru would destroy him and crush him from existence. No pain. No consciousness. No torment. Only non-existence. This was unfathomable to Melkor. How could he not exist? Melkor was he who arises in might. The greatest and most powerful of all the Valar.

Unable to quell the appearance of fear and excitement in his form, his chest rose and fell with too rapid breaths. Still held by his throat, in one seamless motion, Melkor raised his hands in a quick glide, removed his crown, and surrendered the iron and the three jewels it held to Eru. The Vala's emotions were of fire, confusion, relief, fear, regret, lust, sorrow, anguish, and elation intertwined. Each sensation ringing pure, strong, and burning hot in his fëa.

Melkor drew a quaking breath to pepper the creator with questions, but Eru turned to speak to the elf king, “Feanor, I will return to you the jewels of your family, but first you will make concessions.”

Feanor then asked a pragmatic, kingly question, “What concessions, Great One?” Although his heart desired to possess the Similarils without delay, Feanor thought of his people. What must he concede? With the gift of creation bestowed upon the Dark Enemy, what would this mean for the Eldar?

Not answering the question, Eru extended a hand toward Feanor, a gesture requesting that the king come to him. And Feanor did, descending the dais gracefully, keeping a wise and wary and wise eye on Melkor's unpredictability.

With a wave of Eru’s power, the Simlarils were dislodged from the iron crown, the jewels floating gracefully to Eru’s hand. “Come Feanor. Come Melkor,” Each stood arm’s length from the Creator. “And now you each will swear an oath, and a very simple one at that. An Oath of Trade if you will. Feanor, you and yours will rule and preside over your kingdom, and no longer actively attack Angband or the lands of Melkor, and in return I will return to you the Silmarils. Melkor, you will rule your kingdom which will extend to Dorthonian in the south, the far south below the lands of the Eldar, north to the ends of Arda beyond Dor Daidelos, to the mountains and beyond to the fathest east, and all the way to the sea in the west. And you shall no longer actively attack the Noldor or Sindar in open warfare of great conflict. The the Noldor and Sindar must also do the same. In return, I shall grant you a piece of the Flame Imperishable of creation. What say you?"

Feanor and Melkor both gave pause, eyes shifting as they poured over the words in their mind's eye, each rapidly plotting while seeking out exceptions, conditions, and clarity within the terms.

“I accept,” spoke Melkor first agreeing quickly.

“Excellent!” boomed Eru.

A silence came over the hall after the fade of Eru’s echo before Feanor spoke, “More than half of all Arda is now granted to Morgoth?! Why is this granted? And coupled with the gift of creation and limitless power? What horrors will he now create? And what if he should attack us? I must then attack in kind. And this faithless one will attack. Of this I am sure. I cannot make such an oath if I cannot defend my lands. And since he will break the oath, would it then be void for all parties? I cannot be held to terms that the Moringotto will not abide.”

“I will not draw up extended written contracts brimming with clauses, conditions, and amendments. The meaning is clear. No open warfare of ill intent. Deep wisdom and great forethought there is in my offering to save each of you from terrible ends. You do not wish the fate of which I speak, Feanor,” Eru was firm.

Long moments passed before Feanor exhaled loudly from his nose and extended an arm toward Melkor in the gesture of oath taking. Deeply Feanor lusted for the Silmarils and he did trust the great wisdom of Eru. For this must be wisdom. Would it not be? Great doubts clung to Feanor.

“Glorious!” and Eru guided Melkor’s right hand to grasp Feanor by the forearm which Feanor did in kind. There they stood in the stance of oath takers, Feanor firmly holding Melkor by the forearm encircling the black brocaded sleeve, and Melkor’s palest fingers encircling Feanor’s blue-robed arm, the burned palm holding tightly. Both unwaveringly glared into the other’s eyes with distrust, mutual dislike, and revulsion at the close proximity to the other’s person.

Eru held the hand containing the Silmarils above the joined arms as he confirmed their oath, a tongue of flame above his fingers to confirm its binding power. He spoke the details of the terms, then asked, “Feanor, do you accept this oath?”

“To this oath, I accept,” spoke the king flatly.

“Melkor, do you accept this oath?”

“To this oath, I accept,” said Melkor.

“Then to you Feanor, I grant the Simlarils of the Trees and Eldar making,” placing the jewels into Feanor’s hand not still on the arm of the Dark Enemy.

“And to you Melkor, I grant a portion of the Flame Imperishable," and from Eru’s core, a wonderous orange fire emerged. It flew with a dazzling power to the staggering heights of the arched ceiling, roaring down too rapidly to crash into Melkor’s chest. The impact was such to not only break the grasp of the oath takers, but to send the Dark Enemy flying backwards by two lengths of a man’s height. The shock of the power absorption drove his being into searing agony.

He clutched his chest as he doubled over on the floor shrieking horridly as pain gripped him. He folded in to himself tightly and shuddered in violent, excruciating spasms of white pain before screaming wretchedly once more on an inhale. It was then that he emitted the most horrid cry of pure anguish.Oh pain! Betrayer! Liar! What has he done to me? He seeks to destroy me now! Melkor gasped repeatedly with ragged breaths when the peak of agony began to subside. It was ten more seconds until he recovered enough to a shaky but dignified rise to his feet.

“Hmm. Yes, I have heard that the receipt of the Flame can be overwhelming,” Eru mused. Feanor stared emotionlessly at the Moringotto’s latent pain. Suffer you beast! He thought.

Melkor suddenly twitched violently, doubling over once more but still standing, “Ahhhh!” he gasped as his body was possessed by another bout of wicked pain, although this second affliction seemed to the observers as less intense than the first. Righting himself but still breathless, he forced his arms to his side as he regained the composure fitting of a Dark Lord.

“Now, both sides will cease active warring immediately. Peace be unto you both.” And Eru handed the empty crown to its owner.

Melkor’s pain finally eased with the words of Eru. In fact, he found that all pain left him completely. Surreptitiously looking at his hands, Melkor was astonished that they were now healed, and his foot no longer ached him. Placing a hand on his face, he felt not the three scars. What else might I do? Shift shapes once again? Level kingdoms? But thoughts that should be wild with elation were instead flat.

“Father,” spoke Melkor softly to Eru.

“Yes, my child?”

“You would truly destroy me? Utterly?”

Eru sighed, “It would sadden me to no end to destroy one such as you,” and he placed a hand on Melkor’s cheek, “You must not act against me, Melkor. You are of critical importance to Arda. We need you. The world would fall into imbalance without you. And I love you dearly. But perhaps possessing only chaos without the power of true creation is too much for a Vala to bear. Perhaps a Vala needs a counter balance to offset his discord. You need this power to serve me. And I have now gifted this to you. The Flame Imperishable should help you and Arda greatly, and lessen your internal suffering."

"But understand this," continued Eru, "This is not a power that can be spent as you had before. It is a substantial and self-replenishing essence, and thus a great responsibility. You can expend freely it without fear of its diminishment. Your power will not fade. You need this, but be wise. Be what I created you to be, yet only do not attack the Noldor or Sindar kingdoms with open aggression or intent to destroy them as a people. It's so simple. I've made it abundantly clear. Look to the far East or South instead to fulfill thy desires. These lands do require what only you can offer. Heed me, Melkor," turning to the elf, "And heed me, Feanor."

And with this, Eru once again enveloped the Dark Enemy with the vortex of transportation, a spectral light surrounding his body along with the wind. Melkor felt the crushing, nauseating lurch of rapid motion and the disorientation of too much velocity before arriving atop of his dark dais in Angband.

Orcs, balrogs, servants, and slaves were frantic at the absence of their Master, “My Lord!” the familiar voice of Mairon sounded in relief, and the Maia almost embraced his master before stopping himself at such a public display of physical devotion to his Lord's person.

It was then that Mairon gasped, “Your crown!” and with a shock the Maia noted that the Dark Lord not only held the iron crown in his hand but that it was bereft of his beloved Silmarils! Yet Melkor was awash in luscious, throbbing power.

“Yes, my dear Lieutenant,” Melkor placed an unscarred hand on Mairon’s cheek, “I needed to... let them go.”

“Let them go?!”

“Mairon, I have something much better now than the Silmarils,” and delight spread across the Melkor’s face, “There is much to do. For all of Arda beckons to be conquered now that I possess the Flame Imperishable!”


End file.
